Hetalia: Mafia
by un-named-2019
Summary: This is in the same world as the show, but Romano and Italy are part of the mafia. This includes Gerita and Spamano along with mentions of death. This is only the second fanfiction I've written and it was inspired by The Godfather. Constructive criticism is welcome, but I don't appreciate hate.


**Author's Note: After each** **tilde(** ~ **), the point of view changes. I'm pretty sure it's obvious. I don't own any of the Hetalia characters.**

" My brother and I have never been completely honest with anyone. Not Spagna and definitely not the potato. America has been paranoid ever since his citizen made that mafia movie, _The Godfather_. Japan has his suspicions because of his observation skills.

What would baffle the other countries most, though, is that my younger brother is Don and not me. He has more weapons than both of the potatoes combined. However, I have been taking care of things because my brother has taken an interest in _Germany_ , of all people. He doesn't want the potato to know, because he would interfere and get hurt. He isn't family and I don't trust him. Last time Veneziano got involved with someone, he almost revealed family business. The guy died anyway.

When I look at them, I see what Spagna and I could have been. He loves me and I love him, even if I never say so. I just can't take the chance. I don't want him in the family, because it will end up just like his conquistador days; I'll be mopping up the blood again. Veneziano may be able to put his heart out on the line like that but I know that if mine took one more hit, I would never recover.

Mio fratello thinks I don't know of his love for brother Spain. It's as obvious as my love for Germany, but we both fell in love with oblivious fools.

Germany really seems to think that I like those girls. I may not like them that way, but it doesn't mean I can't acknowledge beauty when I see it. Plus, it's fun to see him so jealous and flustered. Germany seems to think that I either didn't understand that he was proposing on San Valentino, or that I refused him. I so very wanted to say yes, but I can't go into a marriage holding this big of a secret from him. I was planning to wait until he's ready to handle such a burden before seeing if the offer still stands. Things haven't exactly been going to plan, though.

I have come to know that mein Italien was a formidable foe back in his younger years. I had often wondered when, if at all, that changed. He seemed so clumsy and weak, yet he could run so fast when he felt like it. The former Ottoman Empire seemed to walk on egg shells in his presence as well. He had said that my favorite coward beat him up when they were younger. I often forget that he's so much older than me because of his childishness and naivety.

It is no secret that he often sneaks into my home and bed whenever he can but, whenever we are at his home, he stays in his room and puts me in the guest room. I have never known the reason, though I did have a few suspicions. Those suspicions were all I had until two weeks ago.

I had had a hard time sleeping; I was tossing and turning in the unfamiliar bed, getting tangled in the sheets. When dawn came, I awoke unable to free my arms and my legs had little room for movement. I scooted to the side of the mattress, but lost my balance and fell.

When I hit the ground, I found myself facing the underside of the bed. Taped to the underside of the framing were a few guns and throwing knives. I could understand it if Romano had this under his bed, but these were in the guest room. Why would they need these anyway? Could mein Italien even use a gun? Later on I found that the answer was yes, he could.

A group of men came in. They made no sound, but Italy somehow heard them. I watched from my room as he reached under his pillow, pulled out the hidden gun, and then killed all the men without moving from the mattress. He then reached for his phone. They were talking in Italian, so I don't know what was said.

After approximately thirty minutes, a clean-up crew arrived. They disposed of the bodies and wiped up the blood. Within minutes, everything was just as it had been before the men came. I climbed half-way out of the window and let myself hang before pulling up. I completed a set of two hundred and fifty before getting up to leave the room. I grabbed a towel and my bag of toiletries, making my way to the shower.

As I passed Italy's room, he spoke to me. "Forget anything you just saw." His voice was so cold. I had never heard him speak that way to anyone, not even an enemy. I nodded and acted like nothing happened; I don't like the coldness in his voice.

He, too, proved to be an outstanding actor. If I hadn't seen and heard everything, I would doubt it happened; even now it's a hard concept.

I find myself watching him even more, now. I wait for the mask to slip, but it doesn't. He brings me to his home less and invites himself into my bed even more. I'll hear him talking to Romano in Italian. I know it's about me because one of the only words of the language that I know is _Germania_.

Germany is more tense than usual. When he smiles at Italy, it's more forced than ever. I guess he doesn't have the practice that I do. When everyone expects you to be happy, it's hard to let them down.

My love hates me. He hates everyone. He doesn't smile, wave, laugh, or even acknowledge me unless I come to him first. The only time he ever seemed to care was when I was mortally wounded because of that stupid Britt. Even then, he seemed to do it to gain favor in the eyes of Miss Belgium.

He's always been polite and charming when in the presence of women. There's no way he could ever see me the way I see him. I always kept France away. I fought with my queen to keep him safe. I went up against undefeatable foes in his name.

I have always loved my little tomato, but how could he ever love a sad man such as me. I fight to keep my smile and my sanity as I let him hit me in anger and frustration. I tease him and stir him up because it's better to have my tomato talking to me than to have him ignore me.

Later that night, The Roman Empire visited. He saw the distress of his grandsons and their loved ones and urged me to help him help them, so I took these pieces from their journals and locked you in the meeting room to come clean. If no one knows you're suffering, no one can help. Secrets are not wise nor are they easy to keep.

To Northern Italy- love my namesake well or you will regret it.

To Southern Italy- Don't make fun of my decedents. You were always a difficult child and I don't understand the Spaniard's obsession with you, but I don't want you hurting him any more than my little Germany.

To Spain- You're an idiot. That boy has adored you for centuries. He was pretty obvious about it, too. Treat him with care. Make sure he gets along well with my kids.

To My Little Germany- Northern Italy loves you. You don't need to be afraid of him, as he wouldn't harm you. You shouldn't be reading so many books on love and Italians. They defy all expectations just like their grandfather. You can't use a manual with love, especially when it comes to them. Should you ever require it, just say the word and I will strike them down.

Don't mess up this chance that I gave you.

You won't get another one.

Germania"

The nations were all flabbergasted. The Italians were brave, strong, and cautious. The Italys were eating pasta and tomatoes while watching the chaos, Germany and Spain couldn't be any happier that their feelings were returned, and England was wrestling with France. All was normal, yet so different. Romano was smiling and his brother had his eyes open and trained on Germany. After finishing his tomato, Romano hugged his Spaniard. Spain was crying tears of joy and Germany was still frozen in place.

Veneziano came running up to him. "GERMANY!" Once Germany regained his senses, he hugged back. For once, all was right with the world.


End file.
